


Young Blood

by Dormchi



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Deadlock Jesse McCree, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, M/M, Making Up Shit About Deadlock, Making Up Shit About Los Muertos, One Big Misunderstanding, One Night Stand, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Yakuza Genji Shimada, Yakuza Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 13:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16556663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dormchi/pseuds/Dormchi
Summary: Genji shakes his head. “You’re wrong. Hanzo is terrible at showing it, but trust me. You’re exactly his type, and his type is very difficult to find in Japan. You’re like an early Christmas present.”“What type is that exactly?” Jesse asks, curious.“Not afraid of him, for one.”Jesse McCree makes a delivery for Deadlock that at first goes terribly wrong and then goes surprisingly right.





	Young Blood

**Author's Note:**

> First, I'd like to give an enormously huge thanks to [Captain](https://captainneedsnosleep.tumblr.com/) for encouraging me and doing the initial readthrough to give me her thoughts. You're awesome, thank you so much. <3
> 
> In this, Jesse is 23 and Hanzo is 24. Sombra is 21, a little older than she would be in a canon timeline, because it makes more sense in the grand scheme of things. I might have a sequel up my sleeve for this, but first I have another fic I want to write for NaNoWriMo. :)

When Jesse’s burner phone rings just after sunrise, the caller ID lighting up with _Restricted_ , he knows it’s one of the bosses in Deadlock calling him with a job. They never do anything during normal, sane hours. Jesse groans and rubs at his face, reaching over with his other hand to grab the phone off of his nightstand. He thought for once he might get to sleep in on a Saturday, but apparently he was wrong.

 

“‘ello?” he croaks as he rolls out of bed.

 

“Get your ass up. The boys will be there in 15 minutes to load up your car.”

 

 _Marcus._ Not his favorite of the big bads in Deadlock, but one of the easier ones to get along with. “Mornin’ to you too. Where am I headed?”

 

“Vegas,” Marcus grunts. There’s some rustling in the background before he speaks again. Jesse suspects that Marcus is still in bed, that fucker. “I don’t like sendin’ you, but Benny is already hot-footin’ it over to Texas to do an unscheduled pick up. I got nobody else.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. When’s the meet and greet?” Jesse asks, running a hand through his hair as he looks around for his lighter and smokes. He should really brush his teeth, given that his mouth tastes like absolute ass, but he might not even have time if their window is too short. This could be a jump out of bed and into his pants and shoes type of delivery.

 

“3 o’clock.”

 

The drive from Sante Fe to Las Vegas is 600-some-odd miles of the most mind numbing stretch of desert terrain in the continental United States, mostly untouched by the Omnic Crisis. It should take Jesse roughly 9 hours to get there, if he’s going the speed limit. More like 8, if he’s got a lead foot and enough caffeine in his system. It’s never a good idea to break any land speed records when you’re carrying a load of hardcore weapon tech in the car, but gang members don’t care about things like that. They only care that the goods are delivered on time.

 

Jesse glances at the digital clock on the wall and can’t help but laugh. “You want me to go 600 miles in 8 hours? Less than? Be honest with me, who did I piss off?”

 

“Fucking nobody. You didn’t piss nobody off. But you’re gonna fucking piss me off if you’re not careful.”

 

Jesse finds half a pack of cigarillos and a lighter in a pair of jeans that he fishes out from under the bed. He pulls out a cigarillo and places it between his lips, then puts on the jeans. “Why are you sweatin’ me like this?”

 

“I told you why, kid!” Marcus snaps. Jesse can hear the real irritation in his voice and knows better than to push too far, but he deserves a straight answer and he’s not going to quit being a pain in the ass until he gets one. “Like I said, Benny is already halfway to Texas, and you’re the only other asshole who speaks Spanish that’s available.”

 

“Why does it matter that I speak-- wait, are you havin’ me meet Los Muertos _and_ you’re not even givin’ me enough goddamn time to get there? Are you kiddin’ me? Do you remember what they did to the last guy that was late for a drop?” Jesse definitely remembers -- the poor asshole came back missing a hand and was expected to just move on with life as a forcibly left-handed individual until he got a prosthetic. He has no desire to lose a hand to Los Muertos, or any other parts of him for that matter.

 

“Guess you better not be fucking late then.”

 

Jesse takes half a second to realize that yes, Marcus actually _hung up_ on him after that prolific piece of advice, and he squeezes the burner phone so tightly that the plastic creaks in protest. He doesn’t know why he’s even remotely fucking surprised -- it’s definitely not the first time that he’s been told, not asked, to do something nearly impossible for Deadlock. He learned a long time ago that there’s no point in throwing a fit about the unrealistic expectations of career criminals.

 

 _That’s just how it fuckin’ is_ , he thinks angrily as he heads to the closet to find a shirt. If he wants to keep all his limbs intact, he’s going to have to floor it all the way to Vegas and pray that he doesn’t run into any cops.

 

\--

 

Driving through most of the Southwestern United States is boring enough to drive most people to tears. Granted, it gets a little more exciting when he’s going 120 miles an hour down the highway and he’s got $100,000 worth of military-grade weapon tech in his trunk, camouflaged with holographic tech to look like a bunch of luggage and other shit that normal people would have in there. It won’t stand up to a real thorough inspection, as soon as someone touches it they’ll know that something is off, but it’s better than just having it out in the open. The goal is to not give anyone reason to look at it, and Jesse intends to do everything in his power to keep it that way.

 

He stops twice for gas, once in Gallup and again in Flagstaff, two ten minute breaks he can’t really afford, but he has no choice when factoring in the gas mileage of a car that’s older than he is. In Flagstaff, he grabs a to-go cup of cheap gas station coffee and a package of powdered donuts, in-and-out of there in less than a minute. It’s a shitty late breakfast, but hopefully he’ll have time after the drop to hit a buffet or sit down in a diner to eat. With both arms.

 

There’s nothing on the radio for most of the stretch from Flagstaff to Kingman, so Jesse queues up a playlist from his phone and listens to a mix of classic rock as he blows past families in 4-door hover-sedans and 18-wheelers hauling whatever-the-fuck across this barren stretch of desert. He’s making good time, might even have a little time to spare at this rate, and there hasn’t been a cop for hundreds of miles.

 

It’s always dangerous to think he’s in the clear, though, and he just had to go jinx himself. As Jesse drives into Boulder City, going a very modest 90 miles per hour, he spots a motorcycle cop pointing a radar gun right at him. He tries his best to slow down gradually as he passes by, but the damage has been done. That cop just tagged him going at least 35 miles over the speed limit. There’s no fucking way he’s not going to get pulled over, and so close to his destination too.

 

“Just once,” Jesse mutters, putting his cigarillo out in the car’s ashtray and flexing his hand on the steering wheel as the motorcycle pulls out behind him, “just for fuckin’ once, let this cop not be an asshole.”

 

In his rearview mirror, he sees the flashing lights, grumbles, “Yeah, yeah,” as he puts on his blinker and pulls over to the side of the road gradually, trying not to give the cop any more reason to give him shit. He’s already going to be in hot water for criminal speeding, but maybe he can turn up the charm and talk it down to a regular speeding ticket.

 

_Keep it real nice and respectable. Don’t give ‘em a reason to open the trunk._

 

“License and registration, please,” the cop says as he leans down to look through the half-cracked window. He’s an older cop, judging by the salt-n-pepper hair color. Jesse can already imagine his eyes behind those dark sunglasses are scanning the car for any signs of paraphernalia or weapons, and his nose is sniffing to catch the scent of something illegal. Tough shit for him, Jesse’s car is clean as a whistle besides the ashtray filled with ash. This isn’t his first, second, or tenth time delivering a trunkload of weapon tech across state lines.

 

“Of course, Officer,” Jesse responds with a pleasant smile. He reaches nice and slow for his wallet on the center console, pulling out his license from one worn leather slot and grabbing his registration from the glovebox. The cop doesn’t seem like the twitchy type, but he’s not taking any chances. He hands over his license and registration through the window, keeping his most charming smile on in full force.

 

“Joel Morricone?” the cop asks.

 

“That’s me.” Jesse McCree has a criminal record from the big Deadlock bust a few years back, Joel Morricone does not. Better to hand over Joel’s ID in times like these, when he needs the police to believe he’s a squeaky clean citizen.

 

“Where are you headed to in such a rush, Joel?”

 

“Just headin’ to Vegas to meet up with a buddy of mine. I haven’t seen him in a year, so we’re gonna hit some buffets, maybe gamble some.” It’s not a complete lie. Jesse has friends in Vegas, even if a few of them would probably kill him if they saw him again, and he might even be crashing on one of their couches tonight if he doesn’t get arrested.

 

“Where are you coming from?”

 

“Santa Fe, sir.”

 

“You have any idea how fast you were going?”

 

Jesse had an ex-cop tell him once that he always gave tickets to people who blatantly lied about how fast they were going. “About 85, I think? Barely noticed that the freeway turned into town, if I’m honest,” he explains with an apologetic smile. “Had a lot on my mind.”

 

“The speed limit through here is 45, but people seem to not even notice,” the cop remarks with a frown. If Jesse had to bet, he’d say he’s going to get off on this one with a regular ticket. He’s generally pretty good at reading situations. “I’m going to run these through the system. Stay put.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Jesse drums his fingers on the steering wheel and glances at the clock on his dash. Even with this little waste of time, he should be able to make it to the meeting with Los Muertos with half an hour to spare. Other people might be sweating in this situation, but not Jesse. He’s a firm believer in staying cool as a cucumber until something actually goes wrong.

 

That attitude is what got him out of doing serious jail time when Overwatch raided a Deadlock hideout a few years back -- lots of _yes sir_ and _no sir_ and biting his tongue while the biggest asshole in the world _Commander_ Jack Morrison grilled him for an hour. When Commander Gabriel Reyes came into the room, Jesse was fit to be tied and would rather have gone to jail at that point than accept any deal. Luckily, he was still a minor, and they didn’t know about his impressive body count. He used his best sob story on the judge and promised he was done with Deadlock for good, which got him 2 years of probation and a mark on his criminal record. Hell of a lot better than rotting in a jail cell and a whole lot better than working for Overwatch.

 

Or so he thought. One of the hideouts getting busted left the higher-ups in Deadlock worried about a possible snitch, got them so paranoid that all it took was a few whispered words and Jesse nearly had to give his left arm to prove his loyalty. He’s been on his best-worst behavior since, but some part of him wishes that he had accepted Reyes’s offer. How long is it going to be before he comes under suspicion again? What if they actually take his arm this time or worse? He’s had an almost five year run of good luck and he’s probably coming due for some bad.

 

The cop clears his throat, snapping Jesse out of his thoughts. “Your license is expired, son. Two weeks past the renewal date.”

 

Jesse stares at the cop for a second, genuinely shocked, before he schools his expression into something that he hopes is equal parts confused and apologetic. _What a fuckin’ rookie mistake._ “Really? I never even got a letter in the mail remindin’ me to renew it. That’s embarassin’.” He knows exactly where the renewal notice is -- it’s on his coffee table buried under a pile of other mail, tossed there after getting back from one Deadlock job or another.

 

“I guess so,” the cop agrees, resting an arm on the roof of the car. “You have someone you can call to pick up your car?”

 

“Beg pardon?”

 

“Your car. I’m in a good mood today, so I’m only going to write you a ticket for driving with an expired license.” He lifts his sunglasses off his face and sets them on his head. “But I can’t let you drive all around the city without a valid driver’s license.”

 

Gang members don’t care about excuses. They only care that the goods are delivered on-time, and there’s no damn way that Jesse is going to deliver on-time if he has to have someone come out here, pick him up, and take him to get his car out of impound. Absolutely no way. There isn’t even anyone he knows that lives close enough to Boulder City to make it here in a decent amount of time.

 

“Is there any chance I could just park over there in that parkin’ lot and wait for someone?” Jesse asks, already running through a list of people in his head that he can call. “Cross my heart I won’t drive nowhere until they show up.”

 

“Tow truck’s already on its way. If nobody can come to pick up your car in 15 minutes, it’ll be towed and you can pick it up at the impound yard.”

 

This cop is the worst kind of people -- the ones who think they’re doing the world a favor by being half of an asshole instead of a full asshole. Jesse grips the steering wheel tight and nods his understanding. As soon as the cop walks back to his bike, he grabs his real phone and makes the split decision to call someone who may or may not tell him to fuck off. It’s probably a 65-35 split, in favor of the “fuck off”, but he’ll take those odds.

 

“ _Yes_ _?"_

 

“Hey, Sombra. I need a favor.”

 

\--

 

Though he wasn’t sure at first that she was even going to come through, Sombra had surprised him. Too bad that her apartment is 30 minutes from Boulder City and no amount of lawbreaking could get her here in time to save his car from getting towed. Jesse had watched as the tow truck hooked up his car, the one with several felony charges worth of weapons tech in the trunk, and drove away. The cop stuck around, finishing up whatever paperwork he had while looking very pleased with himself.

 

“Are you fucking stupid or something, _pendejo_?” Sombra asks, breathing heavily through her nose like she’s trying very hard not to shout when there’s a cop still sitting directly in front of them.

 

Jesse sits perfectly still in the passenger’s seat, affecting an aura of calm that he doesn’t feel in the slightest. He keeps his voice soft and measured. “What the fuck was I supposed to do? I was told to drive the shit here, they don’t care whether my license is expired or not.”

 

“Your license for your fake identity is expired? How did you even manage that?”

 

Jesse thinks about it for a minute. “I forgot,” he says mildly.

 

“You can renew it online!” Sombra seethes, balling her hand into a fist against the steering wheel. Jesse senses an aching shoulder in his future, as soon as there aren’t any witnesses. Sombra might be a little thing, but she hits like a pro fighter. “Did you get the address of the tow yard?”

 

“Yeah, he gave me the address,” Jesse sighs, running his hand through his hair as he thinks about how well and truly fucked he is. There’s no possible way he’s going to make it on time to this drop. “You might as well just take me to a graveyard or the border. The Canadian one. I’m gonna be late.”

 

Sombra looks over at him, lips pursed. “I bought you an hour.”

 

Jesse stares at her, mouth agape, relief flooding through him. “What? How the hell did you manage that?”

 

“I might have hacked a phone or two, pretended to be someone I’m not, and pushed back the time. Maybe I don’t want to see you lose any limbs or your stupid life.”

 

“I think I’m in love with you.”

 

“That’s disgusting,” Sombra says with a deep frown, pulling the car away from the curb and into traffic. Jesse laughs when she throws a middle finger at the cop as they drive away.

 

\--

 

Sombra starts the negotiations with the woman working the desk at the tow yard. She insisted that Jesse stay behind while she works her magic, but when she climbs back in the car and tells him the price, he can’t help his reaction.

 

“The fuck do you mean it’s $480 to get my car out of impound? That’s highway robbery!”

 

“Look,” Sombra holds up a hand to quiet him, “there’s another way.”

 

Jesse raises an eyebrow. “What way is that?”

 

“I used some new cloaking tech I’ve been working on to check out the perimeter. No security, not a soul anywhere. Just that grouchy old bitch working at the booth.” She points with one manicured, purple fingernail at the fence running down the left side of the complex. “You climb that fence, hop in your car, and… well. Figure out how to get out. I can cut off the security cameras with an EMP long enough for you to make a clean escape.”

 

“There really ain’t any other choice, is there?” Jesse is too proud to ask anyone for money, and he’s running dangerously low on time. He has to get that car out and get to this meeting with Los Muertos on time. Not enough time to consider any other options. He opens the door and climbs out of the car, eyes fixed on the fence.

 

“I didn’t buy you an hour so you could become an amputee anyway. Hurry up!” Sombra hisses through her open window.

 

Jesse smacks the side of her car, ignores Sombra’s spitfire curses, and jogs towards the fence, opting for a spot near the back of the lot that isn’t as visible from the street or from the booth up front. He hasn’t climbed a chain link fence since he was a minor, back when he wasn’t six feet tall and pushing two hundred pounds, but it’s mostly the same as it was back then. He pushes the toes of his boots through the openings and starts to climb, pulling himself up and over the top with minimal struggling and cursing.

 

“The things I do for this fuckin’ gang,” Jesse grumbles as he drops onto solid ground again. He looks around at the other cars parked in the tow yard, trying to pick his car out among the many and hoping that Sombra actually cut off the security cameras like she said she would.

 

He finds his car parked in between a massive monster truck and a hover-Prius, of all things. The trunk is in the same state he left it in -- no marks from crowbars or blow torches, which means the half-asshole cop didn’t suspect anything. Jesse opens the trunk with his clicker, finding the goods safely inside, still disguised as ordinary luggage with holographic tech, and sighs in relief. He can do this. There’s still time.

 

Jesse is thinking through the logistics of driving his car through the gate at the front of the impound lot and making a clean getaway when an accented voice says cheerfully from his left, “What are you doing?”

 

He jumps and slams the trunk closed out of pure instinct, heart hammering in his chest as he turns to look at whoever managed to sneak up on him. Behind him stands an unrealistically good-looking asian guy, a real hipster judging from his bright green hair and skin-tight clothes, and he’s looking at Jesse with more interest than he’s honestly comfortable with. At least he’s not a fucking cop. Fuck, he hopes this guy isn’t a cop. “Jesus H. Christ, you scared the shit outta me. Shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

 

“I’m a ninja, it is what I do,” the newcomer explains with a small shrug of his shoulders. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing?”

 

Jesse eyes him warily. “Checkin’ to make sure my car is alright. You work here?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Why ain’t you ringin’ all the alarms and callin’ the cops then?”

 

The guy’s eyes light up and his grin stretches across his face. “Because I think you’re interesting. I am hoping you’ll prove me right.”

 

That’s all sorts of weird, but Jesse doesn’t really intend to look a gift horse in the mouth. He needs to get out of here and he has very few options (really, just the one) that don’t involve his picture getting run through a police database. They’ll definitely know that they’re looking for Jesse McCree at that point.

 

“I can’t prove nothin’ if I don’t get my car outta here.”

 

“I’ll make a deal with you, cowboy,” Genji says with a coy smile. “I’ll pay the fees for your car, no need to pay me back, if you'll come party tonight with me and my brother.”

 

“Your brother look anything like you do?” Jesse asks, quirking an eyebrow.

 

“I’m the good-looking brother, but yes. He looks a lot like me.”

 

Jesse supposes there are worse things than making a promise to party with a handsome stranger. He’s not really in any position to turn him down. If he makes it to his meeting with Los Muertos on time and manages to keep all his limbs, it might even be a nice way to round out the evening.

 

“Alright. You got a name?”

 

“Genji. What’s your name?”

 

The name Joel immediately sits on the tip of his tongue, but a gut feeling that Genji is being honest stops him at the last second. Instead, he says, “The name’s Jesse.”

 

“Well, Jesse, since we are being honest with each other, I don’t actually work here.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Yes. My brother and I are staying in a hotel on The Strip. I’m just here to retrieve the Porsche before my brother notices it’s missing from the valet.” Genji shrugs nonchalantly, running a hand through his green hair. “You would be surprised how quickly they’ll tow a car when you park it on a sidewalk.”

 

There are so many questions that immediately come to mind, but Jesse decides to keep them to himself. They walk through the lot in silence for a few long moments before a curious thought crosses his mind.

 

“How the hell’d you get in here, anyway?”

 

“I saw you jump the fence and it looked like fun,” Genji explains, like that’s a completely ordinary answer to give. McCree eyes him sidelong but says nothing.

 

\--

 

As promised, Genji pays the $480 to get McCree’s car out of the tow yard. His own bill comes to around $600, after he lays out the rental paperwork to prove that it’s his, and Jesse’s new companion doesn’t even blink an eye as he lays out eleven 100 dollar bills in front of the bitchy woman at the booth. _Definitely a rich kid_ , Jesse decides, eyeing the leather wallet monogrammed with a designer logo that he can’t place. He doesn’t suspect that Genji is much older than 21, which makes sense considering the town he’s visiting.

 

They do have to prove that someone else is there to drive Jesse’s car off of the lot, which is where Sombra comes in. She doesn’t pay Genji much attention, just slaps her license down on the counter. Jesse would bet money that it’s not her real name on that piece of plastic.

 

“You owe me fucking big time,” she says after the woman leaves to grab Jesse’s car, her bright purple lips pursed. “You’ve got a little bit of time to make it there. Shouldn’t have to break any speed limits. Hey. Hey, are you listening to me?” She curses in Spanish and slaps Jesse’s forehead when she catches him very clearly ogling Genji’s ass as he leans over the hood of his Porsche, texting someone.

 

“What?” Jesse huffs, rubbing at his face. “The car ain’t even out here yet.”

 

“Pay attention to your job first, _pendejo_. Here comes the car.”

 

As promised, the gate rolls open to the lot and the woman drives his car through. She puts it in park and gets out, eyeing him warily. She’s definitely waiting for Jesse to try to get into the driver’s seat and ruin the whole charade.

 

“Shotgun,” Jesse says with a big grin, elbowing Sombra’s arm. There’s a brief moment where she looks at him like she’s seriously considering leaving him there, threat of amputation or not, before she sighs gustily and walks over to the driver’s side.

 

As Jesse climbs into the car, he rolls down the window and calls out to Genji. “Hey there. How am I gonna find you?”

 

Genji glances over his shoulder, looking confused for a second before he apparently remembers who Jesse is. His face lights up. “What’s your number, cowboy? I can text you the details.”

 

Jesse shouts out his real number (no need to use a burner phone for booty calls in another state, after all) and barely gets the last few numbers out before Sombra punches him in the arm and guns it out of the parking lot.

 

\--

 

Meeting with Los Muertos is one of Jesse’s least favorite things. It’s right up there with getting shot, stitching up his own wounds, and going to the dentist. They’re a twitchy bunch, even more so than Deadlock thugs, and they’re quick to assume they’re going to be doublecrossed. Deadlock found out a long time ago that they couldn’t send someone who only spoke English -- not only was it seen as disrespectful, it was too easy to lose important details in translation. If Los Muertos didn’t happen to send someone who spoke English, then it led to some frustrating miscommunication and, one time, a dead member of Deadlock. Nobody that wasn’t expendable and hardly missed, according to the higher-ups, but they couldn’t afford for it to happen again when half of the gang is still locked up.

 

Jesse is half-Mexican on his mother’s side and grew up speaking both English and Spanish. As soon as the upper management in Deadlock found out, thanks to 16-year old Jesse’s big fucking mouth and eagerness to prove himself, he got put on the shortlist of people who would drive weapons, technology, and sometimes drugs to whatever gang they’re making a deal with or to whatever safehouse they need to deposit them at. When they need someone to do a drop for Los Muertos, Jesse is usually the unlucky bastard that they pick.

 

“ _This is everything, isn’t it? Nothing’s… missing?_ ”

 

“ _This is all of it,_ ” Jesse agrees neutrally in Spanish, holding Raul’s gaze nice and steady. He’s used to the alpha male posturing of gang members -- it doesn’t bother him any.

 

Raul eyes Jesse for a few moments longer, maybe looking just a little bit disappointed that he doesn’t have a reason to kill or maim anyone, then waves over a few guys to start unloading. Jesse stands still with his hands at his sides until they’re done, watching for a few minutes as they transfer cases full of military weapons technology from the trunk of his car to their own.

 

“ _I_ _didn’t think you were going to make it on time,_ ” Raul says suddenly. “ _The boss pushed back the time by an hour. Wonder why he’d do that?"_

 

Jesse doesn’t look over at him, just sighs and shrugs almost imperceptibly. He’s happy to play a game of chicken if that’s what Raul really wants. “ _You know how these things go. Better not to question the higher ups or… you know._ ”

 

He does look at Raul then, and he’s not disappointed. The look on the man’s face is equal parts irritation and apprehension. He could go to the boss about the strange request to change the meeting time, but he’s running the risk of questioning someone higher up on the food chain and possibly being wrong. That never ends well. Jesse allows himself just a small smile, a little quirk of his lip as he turns his head back to the car just as Raul’s goons get done unloading it.

 

“ _We’re taking the holocard,_ ” Raul informs him, waving around the little piece of equipment that will disguise the contents of their trunk. They’ll take the goods and verify them, then make sure the appropriate amount of money, favors, or whatever else is appropriately paid out to Deadlock. Jesse’s job here is done.

 

“ _Think of it as a gift,_ ” Jesse replies, nodding at him. He hand twitches and almost moves to tip his hat out of pure habit, but he left it in the car. “ _Nice doing business with you._ ”

 

Raul gives him one last suspicious look, then climbs into the front passenger’s seat. As their dark SUV drives off, Jesse exhales noisily and runs a hand through his hair. _Holy shit, that was way too close_ , he thinks, and laughs to himself, feeling giddy, high off of the danger and beating impossible odds. He feels like he could do anything. He’s free for the night and he’s in Las Vegas.

 

As he climbs back into his car, he checks both his real and burner phone for any messages. Nothing from Marcus or any other higher-ups in Deadlock, which is a blessing, but there is a message on his real phone from an unknown number.

 

 _Top floor penthouse suite. Be here at 9._ _( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ_

 

It’s followed by an address and a selfie of Genji sticking his tongue out and holding up a bottle of vodka. Jesse considers the message for a minute, wondering what harm there could be in partying with a rich guy and his brother for a night. He’s not really into that kind of scene, but it helps that Genji is a solid 10 and he seems like a real good time. Maybe his brother will be equally as fun.

 

Jesse doesn’t send a reply, deciding to give himself time to think about it but knowing very well that he’s already made his decision. He has a couple hours to kill and he’s starving, so first order of business is to find somewhere to eat.

 

\--

 

The hotel that Genji gives him the address to doesn’t even have a self-parking garage and as much as it pains Jesse to hand over his keys to the valet, he does it. The guy takes them with a polite nod and offers him a slip of paper with a number on it, like that’s somehow supposed to make Jesse feel better about his baby being taken away to who knows where. These rich folks just don’t understand the possibility of needing to make a quick getaway.

 

The inside of the hotel looks just as expensive as the outside. Everything is sleek and polished, the lobby filled with those expensive, silly-looking statues whose shape is supposed to be interpreted by the person looking at it. Jesse spots a bar farther in, a familiar comfort at least, but avoids it in favor of heading towards the elevators. There are employees checking guests’ room keys before they go up, and never one to shy away from an uncomfortable situation, Jesse walks right up to one of them.

 

“Hey, I’m not a guest but--”

 

“Are you Jesse?” the woman asks with a bright smile, cutting him off. She seems like she’s not impressed with him much, but she’s being semi-polite nonetheless because it’s her job.

 

“That’s me,” he agrees, hooking a thumb through a belt loop on his jeans. He doesn’t like people knowing his name without knowing why they do, but he imagines Genji must have given them a heads up that he was going to have a guest coming.

 

“Perfect, come with me please.”

 

He follows after her to another elevator that she has to call with a keycard that’s hung around her neck. She steps back when the doors open and waves him inside. “This will take you directly to the top floor.”

 

Jesse eyeballs the elevator warily and steps inside. There’s enough room inside for 15 people, and there’s only one large, chrome button, lit up around the sides in blue. _Royal Suite_. He pushes it and the doors close, leaving him alone.

 

“Just how much money does this guy have?” he wonders quietly, observing the pattern on the wall of the elevator as it climbs to the Royal Suite without stopping. There’s a quiet _ding_ when it reaches the floor, and the elevator doors open up to reveal a hallway with an impressive double-door at the end.

 

He gets the chance to knock once before the door opens and Genji’s grinning face greets him. He’s changed clothes since they last saw each other. Now he’s wearing a pair of tight black leather pants and a green tank top a couple shades darker than his hair.

 

“Oh good, you came!” Genji steps aside and waves Jesse in, closing the door behind him with the heavy click of a very secure lock.

 

“I gave my word that I would.”

 

Jesse takes off his jacket and his hat, leaving them on the table by the door, and he follows Genji inside, one hand in the front pocket of his jeans as he looks around. The room itself is enormous and definitely reminiscent of those multimillion dollar condos that you see big time villains living in. In the movies, anyway. There’s a fully equipped kitchen and a bar area that’s lined with full bottles of liquor like an actual barback. The kitchen directly overlooks the living room, which boasts what looks like 80-inch holoscreen and three dark leather couches. Genji leads him to the kitchen and rummages around in the cupboard.

 

“What do you drink?” Genji asks, looking back at Jesse with two empty glasses in hand. It’s then that Jesse notices the green dragon tattoo wrapping around the upper part of Genji’s arm, and he studies it for a second before he takes a seat at the bar. It’s intricate, done by someone with a lot of skill, and looks vibrant enough that he’s willing to bet it’s only a few years old.

 

“Whiskey.”

 

“Ah, I should have known.”

 

Genji pours him a healthy serving of whiskey and hands it across the bar, then pours two fingers worth of vodka, downs it in one long swallow, and pours another exactly like it. Jesse watches him with narrowed eyes, wondering briefly if he really knows what he’s getting himself into. Genji seems like more of a party than he can rightly handle, nevermind keeping up with him and his brother.

 

“My brother Hanzo should be back any minute,” Genji sighs, putting his forearms on the bar and leaning on it. “So, tell me about yourself, Jesse.”

 

Jesse takes a healthy swig of whiskey and swallows heavily. “What do you want to know?”

 

“Favorite sex position?” Genji shoots back, looking completely unassuming and innocent.

 

Of all the things he had expected this guy to lead with, it definitely wasn’t that. Jesse rubs a hand over his chin and thinks about it for a few moments. “Doggy style, I s’pose.”

 

Genji smiles into his drink. “Really? I would have guessed reverse cowboy.” He finishes his second drink then, tosses it back like it’s water and not straight vodka. “What about your favorite kind of music?”

 

“Is that how we’re playing this game?” Jesse asks, grinning. “You get to ask me all the questions and I don’t get to ask you any?”

 

“Fine, fine. Ask me something.”

 

Jesse is about to ask when he hears the sound of the front door opening and shutting, and the words completely die on his lips when the person who must be Hanzo walks into the room. He’s severe-looking but beautiful, with long dark hair and sharp cheekbones, broad shoulders and slim waist, and some of the tightest black clothes that Jesse has ever seen on a person in real life. He looks like he just came back from the gym, judging from the towel hanging over his shoulder.

 

There’s a blue dragon tattoo wrapping around his arm starting at the wrist, and it ends up on his shoulder. He wonders if there are more tattoos that he can’t see.

 

Jesse looks at Genji, a little wide-eyed. Genji grins and shrugs his shoulders, as if silently saying, “ _See? Told you so."_

 

“Brother, welcome back,” Genji says cheerfully. “This is Jesse.”

 

Hanzo pins Jesse in place with a look, eyes sharp as he looks him slowly up and down. When he’s apparently finished, he parts his lips and sighs. “No.”

 

 _Ouch_ , Jesse thinks. _Pretty and mean._

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Genji’s shoulders tense and his expression fall flat. It’s by far the least cheerful he’s looked since Jesse met him. “Jesse, give me a minute alone with my brother please.”

 

Hanzo is already done with the conversation apparently, cellphone in hand, looking equally bored and unconcerned as he scrolls through something on the screen with his thumb.

 

“Yeah, no problem.” Jesse raises his hands in mock surrender and takes his drink with him as he walks towards the living room. He spots a set of double doors that he assumes leads to the balcony, which seems like the best place to go to get out of the line of fire. Before he even clears the living room, he hears Genji and Hanzo start snapping back and forth at each other in rapid, angry Japanese.

 

The balcony is bigger than the suite. It makes sense since this seems to be the only room on this floor. It looks like they just split the entire floor between the suite itself and an outdoor area that boasts a full-size swimming pool and a garden with outdoor seating and free-standing fire pit. There’s another bar, tucked in the corner, but a quick inspection reveals there’s sadly no alcohol stored out here. If he’s going to be kicked out because of whatever Hanzo’s problem is with him, he wants to at least get a good buzz going.

 

He plops down on one of the lounge sofas and makes himself comfortable. A quick cursory glance at his phone reveals nothing new, not even an app notification. He puts it to sleep and stuffs it back in his pocket.

 

After maybe 10 minutes of nursing his drink and watching the night sky, the doors to the balcony open. Genji steps out first, newly-filled drink in hand. To Jesse’s surprise, Hanzo follows him out, carrying a clear bottle with Japanese characters on it in one hand and a white cup with no handle in the other.

 

Jesse watches the two of them, wondering what could have possibly changed Hanzo’s mind. He’s still scowling and Jesse isn’t convinced yet that his face isn’t permanently stuck that way, but somehow his posture and his attitude seem less severe and angry, like he’s reining it in.

 

Genji takes a seat on the couch opposite of Jesse’s and kicks his feet up on the table between them. He has a big grin on his face, one that’s kind of infectious when Jesse is more than halfway through a double of whiskey. “Hope you weren’t lonely, cowboy.”

 

Hanzo takes the seat next to Genji and says nothing, stubbornly staring at the bottle and cup as he sets them down on the table.

 

“I’d never get lonely lookin’ at the night sky,” Jesse says, tipping his drink towards Hanzo in greeting. “Sake?”

 

Hanzo’s expression stays carefully neutral. Jesse can’t say for sure that the prettiest thing he’s ever seen has looked directly at him once since that initial time. “Indeed. It is not the proper way to drink it, but I will make do.”

 

“Oh yeah? What’s the proper way?”

 

Hanzo seems a little surprised, like he didn’t expect Jesse to be interested. Then, he makes the mistake of meeting Jesse’s eyes, even if it’s just a brief little thing. Hanzo’s eyes are dark and beautiful, the pupil hard to see on the dimly lit rooftop at night. They stay like that, gazes locked for a few seconds in a strange game of chicken, and Jesse grins. Now he’s determined to get even just one smile out of Hanzo before the night is over, if nothing else.

 

Genji claps Hanzo on the shoulder, breaking the spell. “Tell us some stories, Jesse. I’m sure you have many.”

 

It’s a loaded request, so Jesse keeps the brothers occupied with watered down stories from Deadlock without actually calling it what it is. The tattoo on his forearm is a dead giveaway, but he’d be surprised if either one of them has ever seen it before. It’s pretty much exclusive to the Southwest and their shitty little gang, and Deadlock isn’t anything like the terror it used to be.

 

It occurs to him as he’s telling these stories that they’re the only ones he’s got. He’s been in Deadlock since he was 15, hasn’t seen his parents much except on his initial court date after the bust, and the people he calls friends are almost all career criminals or people who perform beneficial services for career criminals. He doesn’t have anything else, really.

 

Jesse doesn’t let that maudlin attitude creep too far into his evening, though. He’s used to shoving that kind of stuff down deep, where it doesn’t see the light of day for long.

 

The night goes on without any real hitches, save for an awkward silence between Hanzo and Jesse when Genji gets up to grab the bottle of vodka and the bottle of whiskey. It proves to be dangerous, because it’s easier to refill his drink when there’s a bottle close by, but he’s not worried. He’s got a great tolerance and he can sleep just about anywhere -- might even be able to afford a room for the night in this fancy hotel, if he feels like it.

 

Jesse keeps the conversation rolling, and he has Genji laughing so hard during one story that he almost misses the quick, amused upturn of Hanzo’s mouth, gone just as fast as it appeared.

 

“So you  _can_ smile,” Jesse says, feeling just a little good about himself for being the cause of it. Jesse admits to himself that he was definitely staring without staring, waiting for that, and it was worth it.

 

Hanzo scowls at him, but Jesse isn’t fooled. He’s usually pretty good at getting a read on people, and he thinks the angrier brother is starting to like him just a teeny, tiny bit. It’s something, at least.

 

“He can smile, he just doesn’t,” Genji informs him cheerfully. “It ruins his brooding asshole image.”

 

“I’m going to shower,” Hanzo announces suddenly, standing up a little too fast and wobbling slightly for it. He grabs the bottle of sake and the empty cup, and starts heading towards the balcony door.

 

 _Touchy subject, then._ Jesse leans back and decides now seems like the perfect time to ask a stupid question, just to validate a theory he’s been forming in his head.

 

“You guys ain’t yakuza by chance, are ya?”

 

Hanzo turns around at the door, and he shares a brief look with Genji, one that probably speaks volumes between the two of them and tells Jesse absolutely nothing, before Hanzo shakes his head. “Of course not.”

 

Jesse decides not to press the issue. His gut tells him that Genji and Hanzo are yakuza, obviously real important ones that can afford a penthouse suite and designer clothes, but he’s not interested in making waves over it. The less he knows, the better.

 

\--

 

Seconds after Hanzo leaves, Genji leans towards Jesse and puts his hands together in mock prayer. The entire gesture makes Jesse feel unsettled.

 

“I need you to distract Hanzo for the night.”

 

Jesse just blinks at him, certain that he misheard the green-haired hipster baby-yakuza sitting across from him. “Sorry, what now?”

 

“It’s my 21st birthday weekend and we’ve been here for a whole day already without doing anything fun,” Genji whines, legs bouncing up and down like he’s got a ton of energy that he can’t handle while sitting still. Jesse wants to ask what not-fun things he was doing when he got his Porsche towed, but reins in the desire to ask any more stupid questions for the sake of being cheeky. “I have friends who flew in separately and they’re waiting for me, but I already know Hanzo isn’t going to let me have the kind of fun I want to have. That is where you come in.”

 

“How do I come in, exactly?”

 

“You’re gay, aren’t you? Or bisexual, at least?”

 

“How do you--”

 

“I have eyes, Jesse. Do you like Hanzo?”

 

Jesse doesn’t feel the need to hide the fact that he’s interested in men, but he’s only interested in men that are also interested in him. Interest stops pretty quick when someone looks at him like he’s a waste of oxygen. Usually. He’s maybe still interested in Hanzo, even if he barely got a smile out of him all night. “I guess, but he obviously don’t like me too much.”

 

Genji shakes his head. “You’re wrong. Hanzo is terrible at showing it, but trust me. You’re exactly his type, and his type is very difficult to find in Japan. You’re like an early Christmas present.”

 

“What type is that exactly?” Jesse asks, curious.

 

“Not afraid of him, for one.”

 

“Wow. That’s all it takes to be your brother’s type, is to not fold like a wet napkin when he looks at me like I’m the scum of the earth?”

 

Genji gives him an unimpressed look. “That’s one thing. There are other things that he likes about you.”

 

Jesse stares for a while, silent, wondering how he got himself into this situation and how he didn’t see this coming. Genji played him like a fiddle, acting just the perfect mix of flirty and helpful at the tow yard so he could get Jesse back here to ask him to keep his perma-bitchface brother distracted for the night, whatever that means. He wishes he could say it’s the weirdest thing that’s happened to him.

 

He also wishes he was just going to say no and walk out, but he’s curious.

 

“You’re not the least bit worried about leavin’ a strange man alone with your brother?” Jesse asks as he pours himself another double of whiskey. He’s going to need it.

 

“Of course not,” Genji says, like it’s the plainest truth he knows. “My brother could kill you in three different ways before you even thought about harming him. And you don’t seem like the type, anyway.”

 

“That’s comfortin’.” Jesse rubs at his temples. Definitely yakuza, then. “Fine. Get outta here before he comes back and I’ll cover for you. S’the least I can do, since you bailed me out of trouble earlier.”

 

Genji’s face lights up. “You are my hero.”

 

“Until Hanzo kicks me out on my ass, sure. I’ll be your hero.”

 

Genji jumps out his seat and heads for the balcony door. He turns around at the threshold briefly, grinning. “Hanzo doesn’t share well, but if he kicks you out, let me know and I’ll make it right. Deal, cowboy?”

 

Warm arousal spreads through Jesse’s lower belly. He nods, then lets out a huge breath as Genji disappears through the door.

 

“What the actual fuck?” he mumbles, and tosses back a mouthful of whiskey.

 

\--

 

Jesse almost doesn’t know what to do with himself as he waits for Hanzo to come back, if he’s even coming back. Closing his eyes leads to an almost instant response from his cock as he imagines Hanzo’s lips wrapped around it, so he keeps them half-lidded and watches the sky, the buildings around them, and whatever else he can use to keep his mind occupied. The lights in Las Vegas are too bright to see any stars in the sky, but there are clouds and the moon is nearly full, which makes for a peaceful atmosphere to drink and pass the time.

 

Eventually, Jesse hears the balcony door open. He glances over and can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. Hanzo is wearing a white bathrobe, one of the fancier robes that Jesse has ever seen, and his hair is still wet. He has a beer in hand this time, and overall looks just slightly more relaxed.

 

“Genji said he was goin’ out for somethin’ and that he’d be back soon,” Jesse says, trying to be as friendly and non-threatening as possible. Even if Hanzo might not be on board for a mind-blowing one night stand, he’d still like to talk to him. It’s not every day that he gets to talk to a real yakuza.

 

Hanzo scoffs and shuffles over in his hotel slippers, sitting on the seat across from Jesse. “He won’t be back until morning. Most likely afternoon.”

 

Jesse swallows so loudly that he’s pretty sure the whole city block can hear it. Apparently Genji and Hanzo play this game of disappearing brother often. That, or Hanzo is incredibly intuitive. “You sure? He told me he’d be back.”

 

“He won’t be,” Hanzo huffs, putting the bottle to his lips but not drinking from it yet. He’s staring at something, seemingly lost in thought for a few moments. Jesse realizes it’s his Deadlock tattoo that Hanzo’s got those pretty peepers on, but he doesn’t try to hide it. He imagines that he’s curious, but nothing more. After a short time he tips his beer back and takes a swig, seemingly no longer interested. “If he did come back before dawn, I might die from the shock.”

 

“Might be a good idea to consider gettin’ a GPS tracker installed on him.”

 

Oh, that smile. Hanzo honest-to-god smiles, made even more gorgeous by the grin it turns into. It’s accompanied by soft laughter, the warm kind that shakes his shoulders gently. If Jesse thought he was going to be done in by Hanzo’s smile, he might already be dead at the sound of the other man’s laugh.

 

“God, you look gorgeous when you smile,” Jesse says, not really intending to not say it out loud but feeling like someone has to. He wants to see more of that smile, for as long as he can. “You should do it more often.”

 

“I might, if you give me reason to.”

 

McCree shifts a little, his jeans starting to feel tight. His insides are warm from the liquor, despite the slight chill in the air. He looks at Hanzo for a moment, really trying to get a read on him, but he’s gone back to his resting state: unreadable, but less bitchy than before. It’s something. A small win that he’ll take.

 

“Any idea where your brother ran off to?”

 

“Mm. We can stop talking about my brother at any time.”

 

“What other topics of conversation did you have in mind, Your Highness?”

 

There’s that real mean look. Jesse was almost starting to miss it, for its familiarity. But there’s something else there, a moment where Hanzo looks ready to say something that he’s holding back. He doesn’t. Instead, he tips his head back and takes a long drink from his beer, the pale column of his throat drawing Jesse’s eyes. When he’s done, he runs his tongue over his lips. “I did not think we would do much talking tonight, actually.”

 

“Oh,” Jesse says eloquently, and he thinks he definitely must have heard that wrong. Either that or the whiskey is going straight to his head. There are a few long moments where his brain feels broken, even more so when Hanzo stands up from his seat and walks around the table between them to stand in front of Jesse. He’s close enough to touch, if Jesse wanted to, but he keeps his hands to himself for the moment, anxious and turned on and waiting to see where this is going.

 

“That is what you are here for, isn’t it?” Hanzo asks. “To distract me?”

 

“Smart and beautiful.” When in doubt, flatter. Jesse is pretty sure this whole thing is an act and it’s going to end with him blue-balled and jerking off alone later, but he’s not that great at making good decisions when the possible reward looks like this. He clears his throat a bit, lifting his gaze to meet Hanzo’s. “I should probably take a shower. I’ve been drivin’ all day and I probably don’t smell too pleasant.”

 

“Don’t,” Hanzo says, with a surprisingly sweet, sharp little smile. He makes a show of straddling Jesse’s lap, hiking up the robe to reveal one pale thigh and then the other as he sits. “I like the way you smell.”

 

Jesse puts a hand on the small of Hanzo’s back to steady him, right above the swell of his ass, fingers sinking into the soft, plush material of the hotel’s bathrobe. He would bet that Hanzo is completely naked under there, and the thought makes his mouth go dry. “I thought you did your appraisal of me earlier and found me lackin’ somehow.”

 

Hanzo’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t look upset. “You’ll do, for now. I might even change my opinion if you’re any good in bed.”

 

“I’ve been told I’m pretty good with my mouth,” Jesse says with a grin, feeling a bit brave and shameless from the alcohol.

 

Hanzo shifts in his lap, dark eyes fixed on Jesse’s as he grinds down slow and deliberate. “What about other things? Are you good with those as well?”

 

If Jesse wasn’t completely hard before, he definitely is now. He’s also mystified at this turn of events, and having all 5-foot somethin’ of Hanzo in his lap grinding on him while looking perfectly pornographic isn’t helping his thought process any. He holds Hanzo steady and reaches around him to set his drink on the table, careful not to spill either on the floor.

 

“I haven’t had any complaints about my performance,” Jesse assures him, both hands finally free to roam where he chooses. He places them on Hanzo’s thighs, digging his thumbs into the muscle and rubbing his palms up and down. The soft material of the robe brushes his knuckles, sending a shiver through him. “You sure about this?”

 

Immediately, Hanzo’s expression turns mean again, and Jesse knows he’s said the wrong thing when the other man starts to get up. “If you don’t want to do this, you know where to find the door.”

 

“Hey now, none of that,” Jesse soothes, smoothing his hands over Hanzo’s hips in apology, gently holding him where he is, in an awkward hover over Jesse’s lap. “I want to. God, look at you, of course I want to. I just barely got over thinkin’ you hated the sight of me, so forgive me for bein’ a little cautious when you’re suddenly handin’ me everythin' I want on a silver platter, sweetheart.”

 

A shiver runs through Hanzo, one so strong that Jesse feels his body twitch beneaths his hands. Hanzo’s plush lips part a little, and judging from the rapid tenting of the robe, Jesse figures he’s accidentally stumbled on something that Hanzo really likes.

 

Jesse reaches up and thumbs at Hanzo’s bottom lip. “You like that, then? Darlin’? Sugar? Sweet pea?”

 

Hanzo says nothing, just opens his mouth and lets Jesse push the pad of his thumb against Hanzo’s perfect teeth, feeling the shape of them against his skin. He sinks back down into Jesse’s lap fully, sending a little jolt through Jesse’s cock. Screw his choice to wear jeans today, honestly. There’s just not enough room for him to be remotely comfortable right now, but he can’t bring himself to ask Hanzo to lift up so he can unzip them.

 

Jesse takes a deep breath through his nose, steadying himself. He traces his spit-slicked thumb up Hanzo’s cheek, leaving a shiny, wet trail behind on his skin. “C’mere, gorgeous.”

 

Hanzo leans forward and seems to melt into him, hands sliding up to grip Jesse’s shoulders. He feels sharp nails through his shirt, just a little bit painful even through the fabric, and the image of his back covered in angry red scratches makes the muscles in his stomach clench tight, something aching deep in his belly at the thought.

 

He’s not surprised that Hanzo doesn’t kiss him first, that it’s Jesse who gives in and pulls him close so he can press their lips together. He has a feeling that he’s being played with, that he’s only in control of this situation as much as Hanzo wants him to be, but none of that feels important in comparison to the feel of Hanzo’s plush lips parting for him as he pushes his tongue inside.

 

Hanzo tastes like beer and what must be sake, his mouth warm and pliant and _responsive_. He’s good at this, Jesse realizes -- good at following the pace that Jesse sets, tongue slipping warm and wet against his in a perfect rhythm that sets all of the nerves in his body ablaze. Hanzo starts to move his hips again, grinding little circles on Jesse’s lap, and he barely notices when a hand slips between them and starts working at the button on his jeans.

 

Hanzo breaks the kiss after a minute of struggling one-handed with Jesse’s pants. “These are impractical,” Hanzo sighs, clearly frustrated.

 

“They make my ass look good though,” Jesse chuckles, reaching between them to help with the button first, followed by the zipper. It’s a bit of a balancing act to get them pushed down without spilling Hanzo onto the floor, but he manages to get off his thighs and down around his ankles. The liquid beading at the tip of his cock makes him shiver when he exposes it to the air. He’d probably feel a little weird about being half-naked on a rooftop, if he wasn’t drunk and otherwise occupied with the gorgeous man filling his lap.

 

Hanzo leans forward again, trapping Jesse’s dick between them as he stuffs his hand in the pocket of his robe. “Here,” Hanzo pants, handing over a condom in a blue wrapper. Jesse stares at it for a second, and receives a sharp pinch on his arm for his hesitation. He hisses through his teeth in pain, but his cock seems no less interested. “Get on with it, cowboy. I won’t wait forever.”

 

“You want me to fuck you right here?”

 

“Yes,” Hanzo sighs, a little breathless and so, so pretty. “Right here. I’m already prepared.”

 

“You’re takin’ all the fun out of this,” Jesse grumbles without really meaning it, grabbing the foil packet and tearing it open with his teeth. He almost drops the slippery condom in his haste to get it out of the packaging, but somehow he finesses it onto the head of his cock and rolls it to the base in a hurry. Before he even has time to worry about adjusting anything, Hanzo grabs Jesse’s cock, lines it up with his hole, and sinks down in one smooth, slick glide.

 

Jesse thinks his soul might actually leave his body at any second.

 

“There is more fun to be had,” Hanzo gasps as Jesse bottoms out inside him, nails digging into Jesse’s shoulders, “if you can keep up.”

 

Jesse answers with a very articulate grunt, his entire focus narrowed to the tight, wet heat clenching around him. The knowledge that Hanzo prepped himself earlier floods his brain with a plethora of colorful images, and he wonders if the other man did this with Jesse in mind, knowing that this was where he wanted to end up, sitting on Jesse’s lap, stuffed full of his cock. Some part of him mourns the loss of getting to open Hanzo up himself, to have him bouncing on three fingers until he begged for Jesse’s cock.

 

“So tight,” Jesse pants. He tugs at the sash on Hanzo’s robe until it falls, wanting more than anything to be able to see and touch the other man, and he’s not disappointed by the view. Hanzo is all compact muscle, thick arms and impressive pecs, taut stomach with a perfect cock curving up towards it. “Just look at you. Goddamn.”

 

Hanzo rests his hands on Jesse’s chest and lifts up, the cock inside him sliding out until just the head remains precariously buried in him. Jesse releases a stuttering breath, reaching up to tweak one of Hanzo’s nipples just shy of too hard. Hanzo arches into it, looking very pleased with himself, and slides very carefully back down.

 

“You tryin’ to kill me, gorgeous?” Jesse asks, meeting Hanzo’s eyes. “What happened to you not waitin’ forever?”

 

“I am not the one waiting,” Hanzo replies smugly, lifting himself up and dropping back down again. Jesse has to admit, he makes a pretty picture like this, with his kiss-swollen lips and half-lidded eyes, even if he is mean as a snake. And god does he feel good inside.

 

“You’re a dirty tease,” Jesse accuses him.

 

Hanzo smiles and flips his hair over his shoulder, not picking up his pace any. He looks perfectly sure of himself and the fact that Jesse is going to sit there and take whatever teasing Hanzo deems appropriate. Or he’s testing him, trying to see what the breaking point is. Jesse isn’t in the mood for that. He might actually break into pieces before they get near the end, at this pace.

 

He lifts Hanzo up and scoots down the seat, both feet planted firmly on the floor. One arm wraps around Hanzo’s waist, the other around his back, and the new leverage lets him thrust up to meet Hanzo when he seats himself again.

 

Hanzo doesn’t make a lot of noise, but he falls forward and presses his face to Jesse’s shoulder, panting against it. They move perfectly together, Hanzo fucking himself on Jesse’s cock as the cowboy thrusts up to meet him. Eventually, it becomes mostly Jesse thrusting and holding Hanzo steady as he shakes apart, the other man’s fingers digging into his sides, shoulders, and chest in an attempt to find something to hold onto as Jesse fucks him.

 

Jesse uses those little cues to let him know when he can speed up, until Hanzo is trembling and panting and drooling a wet spot onto his shirt. He reaches around to touch the place where they’re joined, fingers shakily touching the stretched rim of Hanzo’s hole as Jesse fucks him. He feels impossibly tight and hot inside, and Jesse doesn’t know how much longer he can last like this.

 

“Want you to come on me, sweetheart,” he rasps, reaching between them to wrap his fingers around Hanzo’s cock. There’s barely space enough between them for a fist, but he manages. The cock in his hand is wet with precome, making the task of jacking Hanzo off easy despite the lack of room. He rubs his thumb under the head and dips his finger just barely into the slit, rewarded for his trouble with another gush of precome.

 

God, he’s not going to last much longer. He can feel his orgasm building in the base of his spine, his balls drawing up tight, but he wants Hanzo to get there first. The other man seems close, with his breath hitching in warm, quick puffs against Jesse’s neck. Jesse turns his head and presses his lips to the top of Hanzo’s head, jacking him off in time with each quick thrust.

 

“Let go, darlin’. Gonna feel so good, wanna feel you come on my cock,” Jesse pants, using his other hand to angle Hanzo’s hips until he finds his prostate. Hanzo jolts like an electric shock ran right through him, and the sound he makes is almost pained as he comes, spilling hot and wet over Jesse’s hand.

 

Jesse doesn’t last more than a few seconds after that, his balls drawing up tight as he drives himself in deep and comes hard. He empties himself into the condom in spurt after spurt, until he’s finally spent and he feels like he can breathe again. “Goddamn,” Jesse huffs, chest heaving in the scant space between them as he tries to catch his breath. Hanzo went all pliant and boneless at the end of his orgasm, head tucked into the crook of Jesse’s neck, and he hasn’t really moved. Jesse wonders if this is what he has to look forward to after round two as well. He wouldn’t complain.

 

He’s a little sad when he starts to soften, wishing he could stay buried in Hanzo for the rest of the night. His cock slips free and Hanzo makes a quiet sound against Jesse’s neck. One of Jesse’s hands is completely coated in Hanzo’s come, which he wipes off on the robe. He’s pretty certain some of it landed on his shirt, but it’s a hazard of the circumstances, he supposes. He can just cover it up with his jacket when he leaves.

 

Removing the condom and tying it off is difficult, but Hanzo seems to notice his struggle and holds himself up, which makes it easier for Jesse to manage. He tosses it into the trash bin by the bar, a pretty good shot if he does say so himself.

 

When he’s sure that they’re both somewhat cleaned up, he turns his head and pushes his nose into Hanzo’s hair. They both reek like sex, sweat, and alcohol, a cloud of scents hanging between and around them. “You wantin’ a round two or did I get you off so good that you need a nap?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

It comes out unexpectedly petulant, and Jesse can’t help but laugh. “What? I’m lookin’ out for you, is all.”

 

“Is that so?” Hanzo asks, though he doesn’t seem angry, just confused. “You are surprisingly arrogant, thinking I need _you_ to look out for _me_.”

 

“Just confident, sweet thing.” Jesse nuzzles at the shell of Hanzo’s ear, his blood on fire and his heart pounding heavy and loud in his chest. Fuck, there’s definitely some masochistic part of him that’s getting off on Hanzo being a such a prickly asshole. “Let me prove to you it ain’t unfounded.”

 

Hanzo makes a soft, considering sound, and he shifts so the cleft of his ass is directly over Jesse’s cock. He starts to rock back and forth, and while it feels good, better than good, there are only twitchings and stirrings there, nothing to get excited about yet. Jesse has always had fairly good stamina during the act and the ability to go multiple rounds, but he’s always needed some recovery time.

 

Hanzo pulls back just a little so he can look Jesse in the eyes, and he’s got a mean smirk on his face. “What was that about needing a nap before round two?”

 

Jesse palms his ass and gives it a firm slap, chuckling at Hanzo’s startled gasp. “I ain’t nearly done with you yet. Just need a few minutes to fill up the tank, so to speak.”

 

“Don’t keep me waiting too long,” Hanzo says with the attitude of someone who is used to complete obedience, and even though he looks a little mean still, he’s also got a sweet, pleased kind of aura about him. He leans forward and kisses Jesse, without him even having to ask, and they stay like that for some time, kissing slow and deep while Hanzo rocks in his lap.

 

Just like Jesse expected, after a brief recovery, he starts to get hard again. He doesn’t want to go for a round two here, though. He’s got a lot of things he wants to do to Hanzo before the night is over and none of them are possible in this position. “Lift up for me, sweet thing. I wanna carry you to bed, but I have some clothes that need to go first.”

 

Hanzo looks like he wants to say something, probably something mean or condescending, but he doesn’t. Instead, he slides out of Jesse’s lap without putting up a fight, giving him the chance to shove his boots and pants off and pull his shirt over his head. It doesn’t make much sense to get mostly dressed just to strip it all off again. After all the clothes are off him, he follows Hanzo to the balcony door, his belongings bundled under his arm.

 

Once they’re inside, he drops his clothes in a pile on the floor and grabs for Hanzo’s hand, pulling him back. The other man goes willingly, and Jesse cups his ass and lifts him up, liking the way Hanzo’s breath catches and his legs wrap around Jesse’s waist. “I said I was gonna carry you to bed. I wasn’t kiddin’.”

 

Hanzo graces him with one of those small smiles of his that tug at all the strings in Jesse’s heart, making it skip a beat or two as he carries Hanzo towards the closest bedroom he finds. The bed is enormous, which isn’t a surprise, and looks like the kind that he’ll have a real hard time wanting to get out of. Jesse deposits Hanzo on the edge of it and helps him shrug off the robe, leaving him sprawled there completely naked, dark hair spilling across the comforter.

 

Jesse leans down and presses his lips and tongue to Hanzo’s neck, tasting the sweat and soap on his skin. Hanzo wraps his thighs around Jesse’s hips and pulls him closer, breath coming in hot little puffs against Jesse’s ear. “This is Genji’s bed,” he points out.

 

“And? You sayin’ you don’t want to fuck on your brother’s bed to get back at him a little?”

 

Hanzo pants and fists a hand in Jesse’s hair, and Jesse knows he’s found a sensitive spot when Hanzo _pulls_. Jesse thinks he might still be pretty drunk, because it almost feels like there’s static prickling along his scalp where Hanzo’s hand is. “I am only concerned about what we might find.”

 

“I ain’t the least bit worried,” Jesse admits, because it’s the truth. His only concern at the moment is the gorgeous man spread out beneath him, panting and writhing because of him. He knows he’s starting to get greedy -- he wants more of those sounds, more of the taste of his skin, more of that gorgeous smile.

 

“ _Ah_ , Jesse-- ah--”

 

More of his name being said like that.

 

Jesse grins and moves to Hanzo’s chest, taking one hard, pink nipple between his teeth and massaging the other pec with his hand. If he had more patience, he could spend a lot of time on Hanzo’s chest alone, just to pull more of those stuttered noises from him. He switches between swirling his tongue around it and pulling it sharply with his teeth, chuckling when he feels Hanzo’s thighs squeeze him tighter.

 

He gives the other nipple the same treatment, until both are spit-splicked and a little red. As he’s considering the logistics of drowning and dying happy in Hanzo’s chest, Hanzo moves his hand to the top of Jesse’s head and give him the not-so-subtle hint that there are places further down that need attention from his mouth too. He’s more than happy to oblige.

 

Jesse maps the dips of Hanzo’s abs with his mouth, finding a few scars on his way down that he doesn’t ask about. He has plenty of his own, and he wouldn’t want to explain any of them to a stranger. When he gets to Hanzo’s hips, he mouths wetly at the skin there to feel the other man arch against him, and his teeth graze sharply against one of his hip bones.

 

Hanzo tugs hard on Jesse’s hair to get his attention. “No marks.”

 

“None at all?” Jesse asks, wide grin pressed against the sensitive skin on Hanzo’s hip. It’ll be a shame to leave all that pale skin without even a brief memory of tonight, but he can play by the rules. He’s not an asshole.

 

Hanzo considers him for a moment, eyes half-lidded. He licks at his bottom lip and brushes his thumb over Jesse’s temple. “Not anywhere that someone could see.”

 

Jesse’s cock twitches at that, fully hard and throbbing now between his legs. Now that he’s been given permission, he places his lips on the soft skin on Hanzo’s lower belly and sucks hard, his other hand reaching just below to wrap around Hanzo’s cock. The weight of it is perfect in his hand, the skin warm and silky against his palm, and it twitches periodically in his grasp as he sucks a bruise into Hanzo’s skin.

 

After a while he pulls back to look at his handiwork, observing the kiss-shaped mark with little dots of red beneath the surface. Some part of him wants it to be a reminder, when Hanzo gets out of the shower tomorrow and for a few days after. He doubts they’ll ever see each other again, but he’d hate to be forgotten so quickly.

 

“Will you get into trouble if I leave marks on you?” Hanzo asks, combing his fingers through Jesse’s hair.

 

He doesn’t have a lover to be upset about that kind of thing, which is what he’s assuming Hanzo means. It’s awfully considerate of him -- weirdly so. As he’s considering his answer, Jesse pulls back Hanzo’s foreskin and nuzzles at his cock, enjoying the masculine scent of him. He knows without having the look at he already has a bruise on his shoulder that most likely looks like an imprint of Hanzo’s fingers, and he’s not too worried about it. This is a random encounter he won’t mind remembering for a few days after. “Leave whatever marks you want, darlin’, as long as they’re mutually enjoyable,” he laughs, then lowers his head and takes the tip of Hanzo’s cock in his mouth.

 

The suddenness of it gets exactly the reaction he wanted -- Hanzo jerks a little and tries to thrust up instinctively, but Jesse holds him just where he wants him, his hand pressing down on his hip and his thumb pressed to the bruise he left on Hanzo’s belly. He wraps his lips around the head of Hanzo’s cock and sucks, tongue slipping through the precome gathered at the tip. Hanzo doesn’t taste any different than Jesse expected, salty and a little bitter, but the sounds he makes as Jesse laps up the taste of him are something special all on their own. He pets Hanzo’s stomach with one hand, feeling the quivering muscles beneath his palm, and is pleasantly surprised when Hanzo grabs it with his own, even if his grip is tight enough to hurt.

 

Encouraged, Jesse pushes his tongue against the ridge beneath the head of Hanzo’s cock and is rewarded with another gush of precome and a breathy moan. The hand in his hair tightens, and there’s that strange static again, sending tingles through his scalp, down his neck and along his spine. He releases the cock in his mouth with a soft _pop_ , which earns him a pointed glare and a thin-lipped frown.

 

“No need to look so angry, sweet thing. We ain’t done here yet,” Jesse promises, and true to his word, he swallows Hanzo real slow to the root, holding him in the back of his throat with more patience than he ever expected of himself. He’s feeling a little contrary to his own desires, because he hasn’t forgotten the way Hanzo teased him on the balcony, and it’s worth it for the way Hanzo moans his name as Jesse swallows rhythmically around his cock. There’s some benefit to not really having much of a gag reflex, he might as well take advantage of it.

 

Hanzo’s fingers dig harshly into Jesse’s scalp and pull at his hair, his thighs shaking where they’re gripping Jesse’s shoulders. As much as Jesse wants him to beg, just a little bit, he can tell that Hanzo is proud and the chances of breaking his composure that much would require more time and patience than Jesse has. He makes his peace with it and starts to bob his head, letting Hanzo’s cock slide nearly all the way out of mouth, giving the head a hard suck before taking it all the way back down his throat. He told Hanzo he was pretty good with his mouth -- he’s not aiming to disappoint.

 

“Jesse,” Hanzo pants, his hips still fighting to thrust up.

 

Jesse hums in response and drags his nails over Hanzo’s lower belly as he sucks, feeling the clenching of the muscles beneath his fingertips. He looks up at him, wanting to see his face, but Hanzo has his head tipped back and his lower lip tucked between his teeth. It does nothing to stop the sounds escaping him, and Jesse bobs his head faster, encouraged and determined to suck the soul right out of Hanzo’s body and leave a lasting impression.

 

He thinks he would be alright ending it just like this, with his mouth stuffed full and Hanzo’s sweet sounds filling the silence, but as Hanzo starts to moan unabashed and show the tell-tale signs of getting close, Jesse decides he’s not ready for this to end just yet.

 

He gives Hanzo one last long suck from base to tip before he pulls off, rolling his thumb over the head one last time. He looks up at Hanzo’s face then and he’s not disappointed; Hanzo’s skin is flushed a pretty red from his cheeks to his chest, eyes half-lidded and lashes a little wet. He looks perfect, like a real angel.

 

Jesse only realizes that he mumbled that last bit out loud when Hanzo laughs at him. In return, Jesse slaps his thigh and takes pleasure in the other man’s startled grunt. “Get up further on the bed, sugar.” Hanzo looks a little put-out at being told what to do, but he does as Jesse asked and moves up the bed until he has his head resting on one of the pillows. The term _pillow princess_ comes to mind immediately, but Jesse keeps it to himself.

 

“Where would your brother keep extra rubbers, sweetness?” he asks.

 

Hanzo frowns like just thinking about it is painful, but he gestures towards the bedside table. Jesse walks around the bed and pulls open the top drawer.

 

“Jesus, there’s like 3 boxes in here,” Jesse laughs as he tears off a single condom, and then thinking better of it, tears off two. Better to be prepared than have to fumble around in this drawer again. He spots two bottles of lube, regular anal lube and something flavored that he can’t pronounce, and he grabs the regular stuff. All of it gets tossed onto the bed so it’s within reach. “Y’think Genji will notice we stole his stuff?”

 

“He won’t miss them,” Hanzo sighs, stretching his arms above his head and making possibly the prettiest, most spoiled picture that Jesse has ever seen. “Or the one I took earlier.”

 

Jesse grins and climbs back onto the bed, situating himself over Hanzo and pressing their lips together in a kiss that’s sweeter than he means it to be. He reaches for the lube and pops open the cap, squirting a healthy amount onto his fingers and reaching between Hanzo’s cheeks to circle them against his hole. Hanzo hisses, recoiling at the cold temperature, and Jesse kisses the corner of his mouth in apology. “Sorry, it’ll warm up.”

 

This is something he’s always enjoyed, whether he’s doing it for his partner or himself. It makes his breath catch, seeing the way Hanzo’s mouth forms an O and his cheeks flush pink as Jesse pushes one slick finger inside him. He’s hot inside and still a little wet from the first time, and the first two fingers slide right in with very little resistance.

 

“Lift that leg a little for me,” Jesse mumbles against Hanzo’s mouth, and the other man obliges him, bending his leg and pulling it towards his chest. It gives him more room to fuck his fingers in and out uninhibited, scissoring the two inside and curling them up in search of--

 

Hanzo moans and shudders violently, his teeth sinking into Jesse’s lip sharply. Jesse’s grin breaks the kiss. “There it is.”

 

“Enough,” Hanzo pants, looking up at Jesse with his dark eyes and swollen mouth and red-tinted cheeks. “Get on with it.”

 

“What was that?” Jesse asks innocently, feeling perfectly contrary again. “Couldn’t quite hear you.”

 

“You heard me.”

 

Still trying to be bossy, even with three fingers stuffed inside him. Jesse sighs and curls his fingers just right, rubbing directly over Hanzo’s prostate to watch him pant and squirm. “How ‘bout you ask me nicer than that?”

 

Oh, if looks could kill. “I will not beg, if that is what you’re after.”

 

“Who said anythin’ about beggin’?” Jesse replies, rubbing his fingers against Hanzo’s prostate again to see him arch and stutter over his response.

 

Hanzo presses his lips together, fighting against what Jesse imagines must be a difficult word for him: _please_. Jesse takes pity on him, because he’s not a complete jackass, and really, there’s no way he could keep on saying no to that face for very long.

 

Jesse leans down and kisses Hanzo slow and sweet, swallowing the disappointed noise he makes as his fingers slide free. He reaches for a condom and tears it open, watching as Hanzo turns over onto his stomach and gets on his hands and knees. It’s a sight that almost makes him forget what he’s doing, but he manages to hold it together long enough to get into position, and he takes a minute to admire the view as he rolls the condom on. Hanzo’s ass is round and full, his thighs thick with muscle, and the sight of him makes Jesse’s mouth water. He can’t help but palm each ass cheek and spread them, examining the slick pucker in the middle. “Beautiful.”

 

The comment gets him an impatient look over Hanzo’s shoulder, and Jesse gets on with it, leans forward and presses the latex-covered head of his cock to Hanzo’s hole, finding it too difficult to go slow this time around. He breaches the ring of muscle and sinks all the way in, then pulls back and does it again. Hanzo clenches around him as he pulls out, almost like he’s trying to keep Jesse inside, and the grip of his inner walls around Jesse’s cock is like pure bliss.

 

“So tight, even after all that,” Jesse grunts, grabbing Hanzo’s hips and pulling him back into each thrust. Hanzo goes willingly, gripping the sheets tight and fucking himself back on Jesse’s cock. Those sweet sounds of his get more frequent, until he’s moaning and saying Jesse’s name like a mantra.

 

Jesse picks up the pace, fucking into the man under him faster and with more purpose, angling for that spot inside him that inspired those startled, pleased sounds before. Hanzo turns his face into the pillow, trying to muffle his cries, and Jesse’s not having any of that. He wants to hear everything, to remember the way this beautiful stranger fell apart for him when he’s long gone.

 

“C’mere, darlin’.” Jesse hauls him up until Hanzo’s on his knees and holds him tight to his chest, bouncing him on his lap. He presses a hand to Hanzo’s abs, imagining that he can feel the head of his cock from the outside. “God, you feel that? How deep I am inside you?”

 

Hanzo pants and nods, laying his hand over Jesse’s and half-lacing their fingers together. His other hand finds his cock, jacking it furiously as Jesse fucks him. “Close,” he moans and throws his head back, “ _Jesse_.”

 

A few more thrusts and Hanzo shudders, back arching, and Jesse holds onto Hanzo tight and fucks him straight through his orgasm, through the tight clench of his hole around Jesse’s cock. The air around them smells like ozone, and Jesse feels the sharp prickle of static along his fingertips as Hanzo empties himself over his hand and onto the sheets below. A wet stripe of it might have even hit the headboard.

 

Jesse follows shortly after, unable to last when it feels like Hanzo is intent on milking the orgasm right out of him. He thrusts deep and stays there, pumping his load into the condom while Hanzo’s hole clenches around the base of his cock. His head feels hot and a little dizzy as he comes down, panting against Hanzo’s shoulder as he tries to ground himself. He feels a slight headache coming on, like the one he gets after he uses Deadeye, and for a minute he thinks he can see some kind of blue ethereal light emanating from Hanzo’s tattoo. It’s gone before he can even guess what it might be, and he blames it on the post-orgasm high he’s riding. After several long moments, he starts to soften, and he slips out of Hanzo gingerly.

 

“God _damn_ ,” he remarks eloquently, his tongue feeling like it weighs a ton inside his mouth. When he feels like he can see properly again, he looks at Hanzo. “You alright? Still with me?”

 

“Yes,” Hanzo sighs, turning his head. He smiles at Jesse, and the sight of it is enough to stop Jesse’s heart for a beat. “I am more than alright.”

 

Jesse believes it, with the way that Hanzo has gone all pliant and soft in his arms. “Good. I’m glad,” he says, smiling fondly back. “You might wanna get someone to change these sheets before your brother gets back.”

 

“He has done worse to me.” Hanzo shifts a little, then presses a chaste kiss to Jesse’s cheek. “But I will consider it.”

 

Jesse figures that’s about as sincere as he can expect, from two yakuza brothers who seem to have a serious love-hate thing going on. He releases Hanzo from his hold and slides the condom off carefully. He ties it off, tosses it in the trashcan and climbs out of bed, heading for the en-suite bathroom so he can clean up.

 

As he washes his hands and cleans himself up as best he can, he has an unbidden but expected thought cross through his mind, one that says Hanzo is going to kick him out any second. He knew going into this that Hanzo was prickly as a cactus, and his expectation after Hanzo came onto him was that they’d fuck once or twice and Jesse would leave, find a cheap motel to stay the night and drive back to Santa Fe in the morning. Then the other man did the damnedest thing and showed him glimpses of something sweet and unexpected that twisted up his insides a little, and made him forget the rules.

 

He doesn’t get attached to one night stands. Jesse McCree is a practical man who knows when he’s wanted and when it’s time to leave. In this case, however, he’s got mixed feelings about the whole thing when he knows he shouldn’t. Sleeping alone with the memory of tonight is going to be a hard pill to swallow.

 

Hanzo appears at the door, and the expression on his face is unreadable. Jesse looks at him and throws on a charming smile because he can. “Sorry, sugar, did I take too long?”

 

“To come to bed, yes.”

 

At first, Jesse doesn’t understand, but he replays the words in his head and comes to one conclusion: Hanzo wants him to stay the night. “Yeah?”

 

“Yes, unless you have somewhere else to be,” Hanzo says, with a look that tells Jesse that he already knows what option he’s going to choose, crooking his index finger in a motion that calls Jesse to follow. Like he could do anything else.

 

He follows Hanzo to the other bedroom and into the enormous shower. They take turns washing each other, and when washing turns into lazy kissing, Jesse is pleased to do just that for as long as Hanzo wants. He’s not up for a round three after such a long day, and it seems like Hanzo isn’t either. Once they’re both clean, they dry off with the huge, fluffy hotel towels and fall into bed together.

 

Jesse imagines he might be pressing his luck too far, but he tests the waters anyway by wrapping an arm around Hanzo’s waist and pulling him close. To his surprise, the other man sighs and allows himself to be held. Maybe even snuggles into it a little bit.

 

Against his better judgment, Jesse presses a kiss to Hanzo’s shoulder and dozes off faster than he has in a long time.

 

\--

 

When Jesse wakes up, he can’t immediately tell what time it is. His phone isn’t within reach and there’s no clock on the bedside table. No windows either. He sits up and rubs at his eyes, a little unsure of his surroundings at first, until the memory of the night before starts to come back to him.

 

Immediately he looks for Hanzo, fully expecting him to be gone, but instead finds him just out of reach, buried under blankets up to his nose and breathing deeply in sleep. Jesse stares at his sleeping face for a few long moments, then gets out of bed to take a leak and wash his face.

 

After he’s cleaned up, he heads to the kitchen and spends a minute trying to figure out how to work the unnecessarily complicated coffee maker. It only occurs to him as it’s spitting what he hopes is decent coffee into a cup that he’s standing in the middle of the kitchen in a stranger’s hotel room, naked as the day he was born. He figures he should put his clothes back on -- not that he has anything to hide or much modesty to speak of, considering the fact that Hanzo’s already seen it all, but he doesn’t intend to give Genji a free eyeful after he played Jesse like that.

 

As the coffee maker runs, he heads towards the living room to locate his pile of clothes. They’re rumpled and worse for wear, as expected, especially his shirt that’s unmistakably stained with come. He decides to pull on his briefs and his jeans, but stuffs the shirt partially in his back pocket, figuring he can just wear his jacket when he leaves. Lastly, he puts on his boots and heads back to the kitchen to collect his cup of coffee.

 

He’s sipping at it and wondering if Hanzo is more of a coffee or tea person when the other man shows up in the kitchen, looking perfectly sleep-rumpled and a little grouchy. He’s wearing a fresh robe. “Howdy,” Jesse greets him, tipping his head in a friendly nod.

 

Hanzo looks at him, clearly startled for a moment before he reigns in his expression to something more neutral. “Good morning.”

 

“Do you drink coffee? Tea? Neither?”

 

“Tea, usually.” It comes out a little sharp, and Jesse raises an eyebrow. He knows it’s generally bad etiquette to be there in the morning after a one night stand, but he’s not sure what he did to earn this kind of hostility already. He just wanted a cup of coffee before he took off.

 

Hanzo brushes past him and grabs the electric kettle on the counter. “Did Genji not pay you?”

 

Jesse blinks slowly, completely thrown off by the question. “No?” It comes out more like a question of his own, because he’s truly confused. Why in the hell would Genji pay him?

 

Before he can say anything else, Hanzo walks past him and leaves the kitchen. Jesse stares after him, feeling completely unsure of what’s going on, and sips his coffee. He doesn’t like this feeling. He does everything he can to be in the loop, just to avoid situations like this one.

 

Hanzo returns a minute later with a wad of folded bills in hand and holds them out for Jesse to take. His expression is cold and closed off, and he won’t look Jesse in the eyes. “There is $2500 there. If Genji promised you more, tell me. You’ll have it.”

 

In an instant, it all makes sense. Hanzo thinks they slept together for money, because Genji told him so. Hanzo wasn’t happy about him being there until Genji told him that Jesse was an escort or whatever, which would explain the quick change in attitude. The only reason that Hanzo slept with him was--

 

_Did Genji not pay you?_

 

Jesse feels sick to his stomach.

 

“You gotta be fuckin’ with me.” Unable to control the rage welling up in him, he slams his coffee mug down, and a piece of it breaks off, skittering across the counter. He sees the shift in Hanzo’s expression to confusion and worry, but he doesn’t let himself think about it. “Keep your money. I ain’t a fuckin’ escort.”

 

“Wait--”

 

Jesse doesn’t wait. He stomps through the room and grabs his jacket and his hat, smashing the latter onto his head. He makes sure his keys, wallet, and phone are still in his pockets, and heads for the double doors. “Not a prostitute either!”

 

“Stop--”

 

As he throws open the door to the suite, he shouts over his shoulder, not caring how close behind him Hanzo might be. “And I ain’t a rent boy or man of the evenin’! Tell your brother he’s a fuckin’ asshole.”

 

“ _Jesse, stop_.”

 

He could say he doesn’t know what makes him stop at the door and turn around when he’s this angry, but he knows. God, he knows. The way that mouth wraps around his name is going to haunt his dreams for a long time.

 

Whatever Jesse expects to happen when he turns around, it doesn’t. Instead, Hanzo marches right up to him, takes Jesse’s face in his hands, and pulls him down into a kiss.

 

It’s not exactly like a kiss out of Casablanca or some old western, but it’s close enough. Jesse melts into it without thinking, wrapping his arm around Hanzo’s waist and pulling him close. The kiss is equal parts brutal and sweet, full of all the pissed off feelings that Jesse channels into it at first and then transforming into a languorous, sweet repeat of the night prior.

 

When they break apart, it causes real pain in Jesse’s chest. He would have been alright if Hanzo had just let him walk away, but apparently he just couldn’t be so lucky.

 

Hanzo is as beautiful as ever as he looks up at Jesse and says, “I apologize for upsetting you.” He closes his mouth, even though it looks like he has more he wants to say. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking on Jesse’s part.

 

Jesse smiles grimly at him and drops his hand from Hanzo’s waist. “Water under the bridge, Hanzo. Take care of yourself.”

 

Jesse doesn’t look back as he gets on the elevator, and for that, he’s a little proud of himself.

 

\--

 

He’s never left town so fast -- lead-footed it right out of Vegas down the freeway with his music turned up to an obnoxious volume. It helps take his mind off of things a little, even if he’s tempting fate by speeding away from his immediate problems. He can’t imagine that anything could be much worse than what’s happened to him in the last 24 hours.

 

Jesse is almost to Kingman when he goes to reach for his wallet and finds not just that, but also a folded bunch of cash in his pocket. He waits until he reaches the nearest gas station to stop and count it. $2500 in crisp hundred dollar bills, just like Hanzo said there would be. He must have slipped it into Jesse’s pocket when they kissed. What a dirty trick.

 

“Fuckin’ yakuza and their debts,” Jesse mumbles, stuffing the wad of $100 bills back in his pocket. He wishes he had never met either of them, but deep down he knows that’s a lie. Having the memory is enough to make the whole thing worth it, even if his pride is going to sting for a good while. And really, he doubts Hanzo would’ve slept with him, escort or not, if he didn’t find Jesse attractive. So there’s that, as little as it eases his mind.

 

He uses a $100 bill to pay for gas, a cup of coffee, and a pack of cigarillos, then gets back in the car and takes off again.

 

Jesse thinks about a lot of things as he’s driving through seemingly endless miles of desert. Some thoughts are constructive, most of them are not. Among them, he has a good laugh over the fact that Hanzo paid him twice what he’ll make on transporting those weapons across state lines for Deadlock. Maybe it’s time to consider a career change.

 

Maybe.

 

\--

 

Jesse gives himself some time to think it over, mulling over his options, and somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Arizona, he decides. Whether it’s a good decision or not, he supposes he won’t know until he gives it the chance that he didn’t before. If they’ll even let him, after he initially turned them down.

 

Having made up his mind, he pulls into a rest stop and opens his wallet, fishing out a piece of paper with a phone number written on it. The paper is 5 years old, crinkled and frayed around the edges, and has been in his wallet since the day it was given to him; he’s just grateful it’s written in pen, so it didn’t fade any. It takes him a few tries to figure out how to dial internationally, but he eventually gets it right and it starts to ring. He hopes that the guy he’s trying to call hasn’t changed his number.

 

Someone picks up and says gruffly, “You have five seconds to tell me how you got this number.”

 

The voice is no different than he remembers, and it’s not _Commander_ Jack Morrison, thank god. “You gave it to me 5 years ago when I was a punk kid and I pretended to throw it away.”

 

A long pause, followed by a chuckle. “Jesse McCree?”

 

“Yeah.” Jesse sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “Is that offer you made me still on the table?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Dormchi on Tumblr as well. Feel free to come cry with me about McHanzo.


End file.
